Tag: events

It has been a month since my birthday and I was recalling how I was finishing up a last minute assignment the night before. I had a long day at university and I rushed home to get on with my assignment. I finished it up at 11:45 and was ready to pass out on bed. I am glad I called before I did but I am quite sure even if I hadn’t, you would have called at midnight. Because you had remembered it was my birthday when I had forgotten.

I was sleepy azz and wished you good night but you wouldn’t let me hang up. You kept talking when all I could respond with was hmmm and yeah. You pleaded to stay awake for 4 more minutes which confused my already sleep-deprived brain. Normally you put me to sleep but not that night. When I asked why, you blabbered with what you had been up to the whole day and when 4 minutes had passed, you suddenly wished happy birthday which woke me nice and proper. Well, also the fact that my phone pinged with notification at the same time, opened my shut eyes and when I rubbed my eyes to respond to you and my phone, I realised that you had sent me a poem. A heartfelt, beautiful and thoughtful poem that not only had you carved from your own thinking, but you had written so elegantly and beautifully. All this was too much for me to handle. The rush of emotions that came from within resulted in tears of happiness and I started weeping in joy. For I felt truly special. And cherished. And although you are miles away, I felt as if you were right next to me. How I wish you were, so you could see my giddy smile and excited heart. For even though, we both have grown old to celebrate birthdays, the gesture made me feel like a child again.

Target at Hoppers Crossing recently relocated to the Pacific Werribee and as part of its moving, it had a three day 75% off sale. I had always heard of people going crazy at Black Friday sales in America.There have been incidents of people getting trampled to death by the throngs of crowd just pounding into the stores like the stampede in Lion King.

Fortunately,we don’t have boxing day sales here in Australia. Why did I say fortunately? Read on.

Sale started Monday , the day I go to mentor kids at the Werribee Secondary College for 2 hours. My aunt called up my mum to inform her of the sale. Mum dropped me off at school and headed to Target to check out the buzz. I called up mum to ask her to pick me up after my mentorship training got over and mum said that she couldn’t pick me up as she was stuck in line to the counter and that she might not be able to come out even after an hour. So I called my aunt and she picked me up and dropped me at Target and wooooow!! I was just speechless. It was a whole new shopping experience I can tell you that. The store was practically empty but the employers would just bring out new stuff and people would rush to it like a pack of hyenas would attack a baby deer. Their eyes were as ravenous as a hungry lion and their hands as outstretched as a little child who had just seen their favourite toy at store.There was a huge line that started from the cashier snaking all the way around to the whole store ending at the entrance. My mum didn’t exaggerate when she said it was a kilometre long line. After a few minutes,I was able to locate my mum. Having secured the trolley, we decided to check out other stuff as well. Mum saw these bed sheets and decided to check whether it was for single, double, king or queen size and poof it was gone. Some one had snatched it right out of her hands!!! People were wild I tell you. You couldn’t differentiate between people and animals, such was the environment and the atmosphere. It almost seemed like everyone had lost their senses and were lusting after the discounted items. The funny thing was that most of these items were stuff people didn’t even need. Allow me to elaborate : So I am a size 7 and when I was checking for shoes my size, there were none to be found. Only the gigantic size 9s or the tiniest size 6s could be seen all over the shelves. I spotted these beautiful black heels in size 7 in some aunty’s hand and no, I wasn’t going to grab it out of her hand. Thankfully I hadn’t transformed into the mindless zombie who had forgotten all etiquettes. The aunty was busy trying to squeeze her foot into the heel.

It almost pained me to observe the whole thing and I was almost tempted to tell her that there was no Prince Charming who would come and rescue her if her shoe fit in the glass slipper, I mean black stiletto heels. After 5 minutes of torturing the feet and the heels, she finally gave up. I was almost delighted and had started fantasising of the heels in my hands until she exclaimed “Ehhh I shall give it to my sister. I can’t miss such a good deal”. ARRRGHHHHHH!!!

Mum and I were waiting in the line for a good hour, observing the whole craziness and pandemonium taking place. All of a sudden, we heard a lady groan in agitation and looked back to check what had happened. Apparently these group of Indian ladies had taken a friend of theirs under their wing. Understandably, the white lady behind would be upset. Having to wait in line for hours and then have someone jump the queue is not at all acceptable. But the newcomer wouldn’t and didn’t budge. After a while, a hijabi approached us and was about to ask if she could join us when the very same lady that had escorted her friend, started shouting at the top of her lungs accusing her of queue jumping and breaking the line and threatening to complain to the management. The hijabi lady looked around helplessly for a few seconds and then jumped out of the line, stashed away the clothes on a nearby rack and left. I was appalled and shocked at the attitude of the Indian aunty behind me. Her hypocritical nature had left me speechless. I wasn’t able to question her and I wish I had because it really should be one size fits all (You can tell I really really wanted those heels lol).

By the time, we left the store it was 3:30 in the afternoon. Mum had spent 6 hours and I, 2 and that was enough time for us to start questioning the world we live in. If a sale on materialistic items had ignited such passion and antagonistic feelings in humans, then we aren’t leaving a very good example for the generations to come.

When I tell my friends of my parents actively searching for a guy for me, they seem confused. “But how do you know that he will be the one?” You don’t. You make him the one for you.

Arranged marriage is a weird concept to white people. Dating is frowned upon in my culture(Bollywood creates false image of acceptance of love.Those aunties that click their tongues when they see you talking to the opposite gender don’t make the movies.It’s the desi uncle who love masala and spice)and forbidden in my religion. It is hard when you have clash of cultures, religions and people in a group. One of my non-desi non-muslim friend has a boyfriend, one of them is a muslim desi engaged to be married and I am the single muslim desi. So while both of them are busy texting their significant others, I am deciding on what snacks will be awaiting me when I reach home from uni. Not that I am complaining coz hey, the sight of food pleases me just as much. I get all mushy too when I see steaming pizza and we never fight like ever. Food and I are just meant to be.

These days all I hear about are proposals and marriage and my friends getting engaged, my cousins getting engaged, when the marriage date is getting fixed and which aunty is searching for a boy for their girl or a girl for their boy. Maybe I grew up and that is why these topics seem more pronounced to me because all of a sudden the theme changed from career to husbands. And I wasn’t prepared. I am still in the career mode. And while marriage won’t put a full stop to that dream of mine, it will most definitely be a life-changing experience. And I hate changes. Well, changes are good or I would get bored of routine. But not my life change changes. The plaza gets renovated, the apps get updated and my house gets repainted, that’s all cool. But changing house, families, living with new people, it will take ages getting used to it. Even though it has been 5 years since I moved to Aus, I still wake up in the morning and wonder where am I? for a few seconds. If 16 years of living in Dubai did that to me, you can only imagine my reaction 22 years living with my family will have on me. I shall wake up and scream at my husband and ask “Who are youuu??”

My parents will celebrate their 27 years of marriage in October. When white people reach such jubilees in their time of spending together, they get asked what is the secret? Desi people have unlocked the secret ages ago. The secret is live together,STAY together (no matter what, even if the husband is ugly). I can’t say for desi people my generation now though. Divorces are getting common in my area too unfortunately. And as cliché as that sounds, I feel social media is partly to blame. Wives are in competition of which husband gave the best present and who is more romantic and where did which couple celebrate their getaway.You know, that competitive desi mentality lol. Its ruining marriages now.But that is just the tip of the iceberg.Other factors account too.

Now, when I am at that age of what is supposedly every girl’s dream of meeting the one, it doesn’t seem all rosy. Books and movies don’t offer step by step manual.Even if they did, chuck it away and create your own.That doesn’t mean it will be a fairytale story. You got to prepare yourself for the bumpy ride.And I guarantee it will be smooth sailing after for a long long time. The magic word is compromise.

***All opinions stated are mine (ok some might be the influence of a couple of aunties and grandmothers’ advice. I went to a party recently and got heaps and loads of advice on how to handle marriage so yeah.They told me to compromise I replied yolo (not really)).

I tutor English for scholarship exams to year 5’s and year 8’s. It is a rewarding experience I can tell ya. Especially when they pay you. That is the rewarding part. The teaching? Not so much. Jk.

So this year, I got a brother and sister to tutor. The girl is in year 5 and the boy is in year 8. When I do orientation lesson in the first class, I yak away on the two types of essays they will be writing in the exam. I go through all the basics, the do’s and don’ts, the if’s and but’s, the no pencil rule, the formal writing rule, all that. And I can tell, most my kids are actively listening, grasping all the pieces of information I am hurling at them. This boy, however, was just sitting uninterested. He was slouched back, shoulders drooping, sighing in between. For a second, I wondered if he had heard all this before. I mean I tune out the safety instructions they give on the plane because I have heard it so many times. So I ask him, if he has because I don’t want to waste my breath and energy if that is the case. He rolls out his tongue and says no. So I resume with my energy even if it is not having an effect on him. Turns out he is like that. Like a kid who doesn’t want to be there but has to be there.

Throughout the weeks, I tried making his lesson a bit interesting. Interacting with him, asking about his hobbies and what games he likes to play. And although he opened up, he never spoke with animated passion. If you talked to me about something I love, my eyes would be out of its sockets, my mouth would be going non-stop 120 km/hr. But for this kid, he was like an 80 year old weary grandpa who had seen the world and experienced life and was just biding away his time by doing what his parents asked him to.

Slowly slowly I got to know more of him through his writing. For instance his fascination with Ebola. In almost each essay that he wrote, Ebola had to be there whether it related to the topic or not. And no matter how many times I had to tell him off for it, Ebola would still creep in. Now whenever he hands me the essay, I quickly scan through the essay to search for it and smile whenever I see its mention.

He is slowly starting to enjoy our lessons. He smiles a bit now and talks about school,his friends and his teachers. It took him a while but he is opening up. I am hoping I can make him put extra effort on his essays but I don’t want to scare him away. It shall take a bit of time.Before I know it, he will be giving the exam and saying good bye. I wonder that’s how teachers/lecturers must feel. Teaching you for a whole year/semester. Getting used to seeing faces, getting to know students and then all of a sudden, new students, new faces. And one of them sticks to your mind. The different one. Because I know I shall remember this kid and his fascination with the disease Ebola.

I am sooooo tirreeddd!!!Fridays are usually lengthy days at uni for me.I get up at 7:30,get ready, get to station at 8:15 and reach university at 9:00. Head to the library to print out my lecture notes and then to the lecture at 9:30.Lecture runs from 9:30 to 11:30, then an hour break in between,then a tutorial from 12:30 to 1:30, then an hour break and then a lecture from 2:30 to 3:30. On alternate weeks, I have a practical lab from 2 to 5. By the time I head home, its 5/6 in the evening and I am a walking zombie. Except zombies, with their outstretched hands, drone out BRAINS!!BRAINS!! while I mumble SLEEP SLEEP.

So today I got home from uni and before I knew it, I was flat out. I woke up just a couple of minutes before to go to the loo, and remembered I hadn’t posted today.With 2 more hours until midnight, I am like Cinderella, rushing to find mice to turn into coachmen (I am rummaging through my sleep-addled brain for words to make a coherent post).

I have only told my one friend (that I just got to know) at uni about my blog (She will be featuring in a post very soon). I wanted to observe the power of social media. I wanted to see how long it’s going to take before my friends/relatives get to know about my blog via my WordPress,Tumblr,Facebook Page,Twitter or Instagram. I haven’t promoted or gave an inkling to anyone as yet and my family is on the deal as well. It’s hard because if I would tell them, they would be supporting me and actively reading and I would be getting more views than now but I like this too.In fact I prefer this anonymity, the calm before the storm (storm might take years to come lol). I can blog my mind without writing too biased or preferential just because a certain friend/relative is reading. I get too conscious and shy as well. And right now, it’s a small team. My parents, brothers, and you lovely readers. At least I know who will be in my thank you speech when I shall be accepting the Booker or the Pulitzer Prize.

I am thinking of writing twice a week, instead of 5. Reading this post, I am sure you agree with me. I prefer quality over quantity. I would rather put everything into my two posts than write 5 posts of crap. I have 24 hours during weekends that are exclusively mine, to furnish and publish my posts rather than rush through uni, write my posts on train and trams and come home,add my gifs and memes and just give it away. I have been debating for quite some time, but it’s hard to break a promise that I kept with myself. It’s just been 3 weeks. I didn’t even last a month (Cry emoji). I didn’t want to sound like I was getting lazy, or losing motivation because I haven’t. I am still enjoying this. I just want to balance studies, blogging,tutoring and volunteering. At the moment, the balance is tipping heavier towards blogging,tutoring and volunteering.

You know what, I shall write 5 more posts for the next week. So that, at least I shall have fulfilled my promise for a whole month and feel satisfied.Yes, that’s what I shall do.

Instagram : @aaliyah_zahra (Brag about my new blog post here. No, I don’t have food photos/selfies.Shall have a post on that shortly and then I shall post that on insta.I do follow backs.Actually I would love to see your food posts and you.Do follow.)

I am nearing the end of my degree and as I am approaching graduation, I am getting this apprehensive fear of the future.

When I was little, and the elders used to ask “So, what you are going to be when you grow up?”, everyone else was rattling off their career aspirations and hobbies and I would have no clue. I would blurt out “teacher” when my turn came but that was only to get everyone off my back because everyone else would be peering into my face or repeating the question until I gave an answer. Growing up, I felt weird among my friends because they knew what to do whereas I didn’t have a single clue. My mum would put my worries to rest by assuring me that I would figure it out when the time came. And then as I passed from one year level to the next, the pressure of an ever growing mountain of classwork, homework, getting highest grades and getting into a medical degree just kept mounting up. I had no time to think, no time to sit back and relax and think about what I actually saw myself doing in the next few years. WAIT!!WAIT!!HOLD UP!!PAUSE!!GO BACK!!!MEDICAL DEGREE?? WHERE DID THAT COME FROM??? That’s right. I didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly I was telling everyone that I wanted to become a doctor. No wait, everyone else was telling me that I was going to become a doctor. And even though I get nauseous when I see blood, suddenly I was working hard to get ATAR score of 99.99 to get into medicine. Everyone else was telling everybody else about me aiming for medicine but no one was telling me how to achieve that dream. No one wanted to tell me. No one wanted competition buildup for their kids. No one wanted their suggestion to be taken in the wrong way if things didn’t turn out right. Everyone kept mum. Now if you recall, I had arrived Australia like a year and a half ago. I had no clue about the workings. I had no clue about getting tuitions. I had no clue where or who to go to for tuitions. I had no one to guide me, no one to coach me, no one to tell me what units to take. That I could have taken Biology and still gotten into medicine. No,everyone assured me that taking 2 maths units, physics and chemistry was the way to go. That subjects that I would drown in would help me in getting into medicine. That studying whole textbooks all by MYSELF was what every student does. Little did I know everyone else was going for tuitions.

I did not get 99.95. I did not get into medicine. I did not meet the demands of what desi community had placed onto me.

I got into Bachelors of Science (Biotechnology). At every desi party I would be the target of aunties clicking their tongue in sympathy for my failure. I would feel down, I felt I had let my parents down, my relatives down, the whole of India down. Aunties would surround me and question my errors and interview my faults because they wanted to avoid the pitfalls that I had fallen into during my journey. They wanted to know what shortcuts they could take for their kids based on my shortcomings.

3 years later…

I attend a party and see this aunty whom I haven’t seen for long. I go to her and chat with her and ask about what has been happening. Apparently her elder daughter was in year 12 and she had stopped attending parties to concentrate on her studies. I asked whether she is still pursuing the dream of doctor and aunty exclaims “Doctor?? No waayy!!! I don’t want my daughter to become doctor. Do you know they have to do night shifts as part of degree? It is very unsafe for girls. Do you know its a 5 year degree? Too lengthy!!And plus my daughter doesn’t have interest in medicine. She told me she wants to become a teacher. I also like that. Best job for girls.” I look around and see all aunties nodding their head in unison.

So last night I got sick, like really sick. Fever, cough, blocked nose the whole package. I lay down on my bed underneath the blanket. The bed was bitingly cold against my hot skin and I couldn’t bear to lie down upon it but I had to. I covered my whole body with the blanket and rolled into the shape of the fetus but after a while I started feeling breathless and peeked my head out to breathe. The ice-cold air hit my face,nose and ears so I covered the rest of my face but let my nose out for air ventilation. However if you remember, the ventilation was blocked that is I had one congested nostril and breathing through only one was getting me breathless.

My mouth opened to help in the process and I started gulping down fresh air as a person who was drowning would when he would rise to the surface. Meanwhile the rest of the body that was covered in blanket was not only screaming fire (fever + heat build up by closure of fresh air) but my throat was feeling that I was neglecting it and so it started drawing attention of not only mine but my whole household by racking into dry itchy coughs. Mum bought warm water and lozenges to appease the throat but the throat was having none of it. I shot out one of my legs outside the blanket to cool it down but the leg ran back inside the fiery blanket after experiencing Antarctic isolation outside. Coughs and shallow breathing aside, my hands were deadly cold and my body would scream if I rested my hands against the feverish chest/stomach. My hands therefore got exiled to Antarctica outside.

By this time, my brain who was busy commanding the white blood cells on the battle that was raging against the army of viruses attacking my body, had enough of my indecisiveness and decided to shut me down by producing melatonin. I finally started getting drowsy and was almost giddy with happiness for the fact that I no longer had to deal with problems because I would be dead for a few hours at least. My eyelids started fluttering,my smile started widening as sleep welcomed me into its open arms. As I started getting comfortable into sleep’s lap, the throat probably got jealous because it started throwing tantrums. Series of coughs later, I looked around for sleep which was miles away putting another baby to sleep. Frustrated, I downed a glass of water & turned to my phone for solace and comfort. It has been 2 hours now and I got the idea to blog about it. When the throat saw that I had featured it and given it an honourable mention in today’s post : it started beaming with pride. It has quieted down considerably and I am thinking that while it is busy boasting to other body parts, I shall quickly catch a few zzzzz.

your mum asks who is going to marry you if you don’t keep your room clean.

your mum asks who is going to marry you if you don’t know how to do the laundry.

your relatives ask who is going to marry you because you didn’t turn out to be a doctor.

your relatives ask who is going to marry you with all that NRI attitude.

you get to know the requirements of being eligible for a proposal (for a girl : young,fair,slim,tall,doctor,good-looking, great at household responsibilities, can cook, clean, soft spoken, well mannered etc etc. and for the boy : good salary)

you have billions of events to attend from birthdays to weddings and funerals and graduations etc.

you attend desi parties and have no one your age group to talk to.

you attend desi parties and its full of discussion on how corrupt your country is or how politicians are greedy and useless and not fulfilling their promises.

you attend desi parties and its full of gossip.

you attend desi parties and meet an aunty you have never seen before who questions everything about you from the moment you were born to your future plans, hobbies,career aspirations either to gain information for gossip or to check whether you would be a suitable match for her sister’s son back in India who is doing M.Tech and already has a job offer.

you attend desi weddings and all aunties be looking at you rather than the bride because they are searching for a bride for their sons.

you can’t wear makeup to a party (eyeshadows and bright lipsticks are a no-no) because aunties be zooming in on your face and turning noses so high up in air with scorn and disgust that it practically touches the ceiling and comment on the fact that at their time girls didn’t even look at makeup before marriage and girls nowadays are wearing so much makeup that they look like brides when in fact you just wore a thin line eyeliner (not even winged eyeliner) and a slight tint of lipgloss. Mind you, these same aunties are wearing bright red lipstick and bright pink blush that they didn’t even blend in properly. I personally believe they are fuming on the inside with jealousy that they didn’t have awesome makeup and makeup tricks at their time and try to make it up now by not letting any one wear it).

you can’t talk about the m word (marriage) because aunties be commenting on the fact that you are so shameless but then they ask your mum in front of you,your brothers and father whether she has started to search for prospective proposals for you.

you call one of these aunties “aunty” and they wince out audibly in pain because they are only 20-30 years older than you and hence fit under the category of appi or didi (older sister).

your parents lament the fact that you are a disgrace to their upbringing but get overprotective when an aunty or uncle enquire about you. In fact each desi party is not complete without a boasting competition on whose son or daughter is better.

your studies is all computer-based but your parents assume you are always on YouTube or Facebook or Twitter when really you are just finishing up last minute assignments.

you have extended relatives that you never knew about and when you visit India your mum introduces you to some random person who supposedly is your father’s sister’s son’s uncle’s cousin’s daughter’s husband.The meeting is awkward. The questions are awkward.The answers are awkward. But you gotta be polite and smile awkwardly.

you are a trophy, a medal that your parents have to polish and shine so the society knows your worth and what a good job your parents did in raising you up.

your success depends on whether or not you became a successful doctor.

your beauty depends on whether or not you are fair and lovely. Also whether you are thin or not.

your status depends on what brand of ethnic clothing you wear, what/how many cars you own, how many kids you have, how many types of cutlery dishes you have, how many succesful huge parties you throw, how many properties you own, how many high profile upper class society people you know.

you can’t be on your phone 24/7 because everyone starts commenting on your zero social skills and your upbringing and how rude you are being because back in their time they would greet the guests at the door and take out the guests’ slippers and attend to the guests’ needs and entertain the guests and serve dinner and after-dinner tea and sweet dishes and put on the slippers and wave them goodbye till the guests’ car could no longer be seen.

I shall stop now. Sorry for the long list.

*Disclaimer : This is a satirical post written in good humour to incite laughter among my readers. The intention was not to offend parents,aunties, desi elders in general. Some points are exaggerations inspired by real life events, some are a balance between typical desi mindsets and attitude and some are just plain fiction. My mum is a total chill person who lets me sleep in late during weekends and vacations but advises me to train myself to wake up early. She has taught me the basics but knows I will cook and do laundry when the time comes. In fact above points do not represent my parents. With the points relating to aunties, I shall let you decide.

I started this blog approximately two weeks ago and the response I am receiving is overwhelming. Getting to read other fellow bloggers’ post, who by the way are amazing writers and poets, is inspiring. Getting to know them through their posts and comments is even more awesome. The fact that my blog is being read in countries such as Turkey, Sweden, Norway, Netherlands, Argentina, Malaysia, Singapore, India, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, South Africa, United Kingdom, European Union, Canada, America is so mind-boggling. I can’t imagine people sitting in front of their laptops,desktops, on their phones and actually reading what I write like WOW!!!(Am I famous yet?)

I started this blog as a way to vent out my feelings and to record what I was going through. I used to have a personal diary in which I wrote what happened each day. I got it as a birthday gift when I turned 13. At the time I was reading Diary of Anne Frank and she had received her famous diary when she turned 13 as well. (I named it Diary of Aaliyah Zahra(how original!)).Of course my entries were much more daily updates (and not inspiring at all) of what had happened each day rather than the thoughtful philosophical insights Anne had. As days passed, I got bored of it or maybe I became lazy. The diary would get lost among the evergrowing pile of textbooks,notebooks and workbooks of my school days. Months later, I would come across it while cleaning and throwing out the books and I would blow the dust that it had accumulated during my time of neglect and I would read my old entries and laugh at how childish I used to be. With renewed enthusiasm, I would grab a pencil and start writing again, only to get busy in life and leave it untouched. I bought it along with me to Australia but my fingers started crying in pain the minute I started writing as I haven’t done actual writing in 5 years (All my university assignments and studying are computer based). I am pretty sure my diary hates me now. It must think of me as its on-again off-again girlfriend. And now that I am writing my entries here, it must feel cheated.

Because I am writing this blog and I know there are people like you reading it and taking time out of their day to provide such lovely comments and feedback (A BIG THANK YOU), I feel I have to write. Like I would be cheating if I don’t.And I don’t think I can become lazy and not post for a couple of years and then write a post apologizing and promising I am back and shall be writing and then not write again like I did to my diary. But this is good pressure. I am enjoying it. I love it when someone replies that they can relate to my post. It makes my day.

I honestly didn’t know I had writing in me. Mikaeel was the creative one amongst us. It was an established fact. He had the best handwriting (he is a guy and I AM A GIRL (life is so unfair I know). He draws amazing and my older brother Khalid and I would ask him to do our biology drawings (Mikaeel charged us with a fee of course). I used to do well in English like A’s and A+’s on my creative writing essays but that was just that. Studying and getting grades. My brothers would encourage me to do writing and had nicknamed me J.K. Howling. When I would howl about it they would say j.k. Haha so funny I know.

2 weeks ago my older brother gave the idea to start the blog to enhance my writing so that I could write a novel in the future and with the support of my parents, I did. It would be my personal diary, a place to vent out my feelings, a place to rant behind the anonymous guise of social media. Little did I know, there was team internet who would be supporting me. Getting to know like-minded girls who support each other is such a satisfying feeling. Its like having sisters I wish I had.Coming back after a rough day and responding to comments or reading your blog posts and thinking OMG same just alleviates whatever I had gone through the day. Your blog posts motivate and inspire me. Keep doing you. Us girls got this. We can share the struggles of having that aunty scorn at us for not becoming a doctor. We can stand up against any desi injustice. We can do this!! Now go and do your homework or you gonna get a flying slipper on your head from your mum for procrastinating 😛

Like this:

So last Friday I wrote a post on racism and how it is still well and alive in Australia. I promised I would be showcasing the other section of society.The lovely ones.

I used to volunteer at St. Vinnies during my school holidays. The lovely manager over there, Miss Kate, was a terrific conversationalist. She was friendly,lively and always complimented me for my style and the skirts I used to wear. She would ask me how my weekend was and would proceed to give reviews on the next best movie that she had watched or a restaurant she had gone to with her partner. I stopped volunteering two years ago but whenever I bump into her, she always greets me with her cheery smile and twinkly eyes and asks me if I am married yet.

Another great Australian that comes to mind is my classmate Jennifer. School year starts in February and we had arrived Australia early in April. By the time, I had enrolled into school it was mid-May and classes were in full swing. New country, new school, new people. It all seemed overwhelming to me. For the first few weeks I was that new kid who was all alone by herself, too shy to ask questions, too afraid to meet anyone’s eye. Then this boisterous, bumbling Jennifer came sat next to me and all changed. She introduced herself and I knew I liked her from the start. She had a cheerful and outgoing personality and she used to offer me with whatever snacks and treats she had (I had to refuse due to most of it being haram but she never got offended). I saw her recently working at the supermarket Aldi. She was too busy to look at customers but had she not been, I still wouldn’t have had the courage to walk over and say hi. (The weird thing with me is that, if it has been a while since I have seen you last, I will try to avoid rocking up to you for fear you might not recognise me or to avoid the awkwardness of Hey!!Remember me?? I tend to believe it’s because I am an introvert, my family thinks I am just weird).

Last semester I had to go to an exam at a venue (Melbourne Showgrounds) that I had never been before. I was already a jittery mess and the fact that I had to go to the unknown was getting me antsy. My older brother had accompanied along for moral support but he was as clueless as I was. The indecisive GPS was not really being of much help in calming me down as it keep displaying different routes each minute. We got off at Footscray and were waiting for the tram that would hopefully take us to our destination. As soon as the tram arrived, I hopped on and asked the tram driver if he would be leading us to Melbourne Showgrounds. He said he would be going along that way but I would have to change the tram and hop onto another one which would take us 2 stops down from there. This kind sir asked me to sit in front right behind his driver seat so that he would let me know when to get off. He assured me he wouldn’t forget. Right before our stop, he announced “Students wishing to go to Melbourne Showgrounds please disembark and board on Tram 52 to get there”. I don’t know who he was, but I sure will never forget him.I got to my exam hall 30 minutes before scheduled time and my frazzled nerves had calmed down considerably.

Such acts of kindness and support, I shall cherish forever. These are just a few examples of the lovely acts of random kindness that I was fortunate enough to receive. I hope that I can be such a person to someone someday.

***All images via Google Images. The tram driver pictured is NOT the tram driver who helped me and Miss Kate is not the model pictured above.